


On The Awakening

by Marie_Phantom



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Grief, Heavy Angst, Mourning, Multi, This is a tough one folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25161121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Phantom/pseuds/Marie_Phantom
Summary: They had 5 years.That's all.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	On The Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This is, BY FAR, the saddest thing I've ever written. Not even LWIR got this sad. Be warned.
> 
> OK, since the MAGNIFICENT series came out and I re-read the book again, this has been plaguing my mind for a year, until I had to get it out. For those wondering about The Rabbit Hole, I'm working out some kinks with it, but I should be coming back to that soon. I've got to thank everyone involved with the series and the book for making these characters, and giving us an ending which makes me cry every time I watch it, because DAMNIT, THOSE BOYS DESERVED THAT ENDING!
> 
> I was raised, religiously, from a Western Catholic perspective, and that is what I'll be writing from. I apologise in advance for any people who chose to view these characters, any of them, differently, but for fear of offending anyone in case I got something hideously wrong, that is how I chose to write. Thank you. 
> 
> I own nothing.

They got 5 years.

That's all. 

5 years, a mere blink in their existence. After 6000 years of pining, 6000 years of stolen glances and wishful thinking (Crowley) and slow, gradual realisation (Aziraphale), they only got half a decade. From the night of the Ritz, when Crowley lurched forward into a kiss and then backed away, terrified he had scared Aziraphale off, only for his ear to be grabbed and his mouth mercilessly plundered, to the morning when a contingent of Angels and Demons stormed into he bookshop and snatched them from their bed, they got 5 years, 4 months and 12 days. 

The attack was well planned, obviously, and Crowley and Aziraphale didn't even realise what had happened when unkind hands were grabbing at them and forcing them to their knees. 

"Wha-" Crowley said, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

"This is abominable!" Aziraphale cried, much more awake than Crowley was. Crowley (lazy snake) always took so long to wake up. 

"Be quiet!" Sandalphon hissed. His face may have been obscured by ethereal magic, but Crowley would recognise those hideous gold teeth anywhere.

"Get out of my shop! You can't hurt us, we've proven that before!" Aziraphale said, trying to get his wrists free. They were behind his back, held by hard hands which squeezed his wrists whenever he moved and made him want to cry out. 

"Shut the fuck up. You can't wake anyone up, they've been taken care of." A low voice muttered above Aziraphale's head. Crowley felt himself go cold, and abruptly hoped that the bookshops neighbours hadn't been murdered. Not only would it be a massive inconvenience due to the police presence, but also, because their youngest child had a habit of slipping Aziraphale sweets whenever they passed her in the street. 

She was only 6. The thought of her dead at Hell's hands made Crowley want to vomit.

"What do you want?" He asked through a narrow throat. Someone was stepping on the back of his neck, and his throat was squeezed almost shut. Thank someone he didn't have to breath.

No one answered him, and both Crowley and Aziraphale were abruptly pulled to their feet. Someone, a minor angel, snapped their fingers and Crowley and Aziraphale found they were now wearing simple tunics over their bodies. For Aziraphale, who had gone to sleep wearing pyjama pants, it looked like a complete outfit, but Crowley had gone to bed wearing nothing but briefs, and he felt vulnerable and exposed. Not something he was used to feeling before.

They were hauled by their wrists through the bookshop and onto the street. Crowley let his tongue flicker through the air, trying to catch what demonic works had been done, and felt abruptly pleased when he felt that the neighbours were only under a strong sleeping spell. Not dead, but no one would head them if Crowley and Aziraphale started crying for help.

Crowley looked at Azirpahale, and saw that he was looking up at the sky, dread in his eyes. "Angel." Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale jerked his head around and looked into Crowley's eyes. 

"Be brave, beloved." Azirpahale said through trembling lips. Crowley opened his mouth to comfort him, but he was abruptly jerked upright, and Crowley and Aziraphale were whisked back into Heaven.

* * *

It was just as sterile and awful as both of them remembered. Now, though, the beings had released their arms and Crowley immediately sought out Aziraphale's hands, chafing them to get the heat back in as they stared around. They were surrounded on all sides, Angel, Demon, Angel, Demon. They ethereal/occult masks were gone and Crowley and Aziraphale could see, on every face, the abject hatred and disgust that permeated the room. 

"Zurprizzed?" A voice hissed in front of them. Crowley jerked, and Azirpahale slid a hand around his back to stabilise him. There was obviously no use hiding their relationship now, not when they had literally been caught in bed together. Beelzebub sneered at them, their normally present flies banished and instead, their fly form fixed on top of their head. Beside them, Gabriel straightened the cuffs of his suit, his lips caught in a cruel grimace. 

"The inter-departmental coorperation does surprise me, yes." Aziraphale said mildly. Only Crowley could feel how badly he was shaking. Crowley didn't say anything. He didn't want to make the situation worse by opening his mouth. 

"Well, when it comes to joint traitors, a little cooperation goes a long way." Gabriel said breezily. He slapped a hand onto Beezlebub's shoulder, then realised what he was doing and yanked his hand away. He grimaced at the general grime on his palm and made all of the demons (bar one) shift uncomfortably when he miracled the mess away.

"I though we dealt with this little issue 5 years ago." Crowley said, quite proud at how bored he sounded. Inside, something cold was curling in his chest. 

"Sadly we didn't get the result we wanted." Hastur, a few steps away from Beezlebub, grinned and leered at Crowley's bare legs. Crowley, feeling slightly sick with fear now, didn't even bother to hide the fact he was practically huddling close to Aziraphale. 

"Indeed. However, it seems we might have a solution to out little problem." Gabriel said brightly. Michael, on his other side, smirked. The cold feeling in Crowley's chest was spreading to his limbs, and Crowley recognised the feeling of shock as it slowly took hold of his body. 

He'd last felt it sitting on the floor of a burning bookshop.

"Sol-" Aziraphale wet his lips delicately and tried again. "Solution?" He asked in a weak voice. 

"It's an abomination that you and your point boyfriend have been allowed to live. Clearly some the Lord had overlooked. It's our turn to correct it." Uriel didn't bat an eyelash as she spoke to them. To her, it seemed to Crowley, she may as well have been weeding. 

"Don't." Crowley said abruptly. "Don't do this. We lived for a reason, there must be a reason. Do you really want to go against the Ineffable Plan?"

"Ha!" Gabriel laughed loudly. "Do you think you belong to the Ineffable Plan? You two, a Fallen angel and one who had turned his back on Heaven?"

Crowley twitched and Aziraphale hugged him tighter. 

"I have not turned my back on Heaven, I turned my back on you. I think you'll find that there is a difference." Aziraphale said. He was still shaking, but felt a peacefulness in his spirit. He was sure that his unwavering faith in Her would come through.

"No, there isn't." Now Gabriel look instanced, and he turned to Beezlebub. He pulled on a thick canvas glove, and, in a sly move, Beezlebub handed him something that neither Crowley nor Aziraphale saw. The demonic energy in the room, however, suddenly increased, and Crowley gripped his Angel hard.

"You've got to run!" He hissed, urgently. Aziraphale nodded, and tried to move, but found his feet fused to the floor. He looked up at Michael, and saw her smirk increase.

Gabriel started moving closer, and Azirpahale tried to find his faith, but, staring into the eyes of the Archangel, he felt afraid.

"Gabriel, please." He whispered. Crowley was trying to pull his angel along, but Azirpahale as truly stuck, and Crowley, in his panic, was started to gasp.

"You're betrayed Heaven, and you didn't Fall." Gabriel said, shaking his head.

"And doesn't that mean something?" Aziraphale asked desperately. Crowley was still trying to pull him along, but was losing strength as he saw Gabriel move closer. Instead he was starting to wind his limbs around Aziraphale , his form shifting slightly as he tried to act as a shield.

"Yes. It means that She is obviously too busy to take out the trash, so we must do her works for her." Gabriel stopped before Aziraphale as assessed him. His form, so unfitting for an angel with its soft curves and obvious stomach, disgusted Gabriel so much that he felt a bit ill.

"Plea-"

Whatever Azirpahale wanted to say was cut off abruptly. In a move so quick it would take only an Angel or a Demon to see it, Gabriel slashed across Azirpahale's throat and stood back. Azirpahale, swayed and looked at the demonic dagger Gabriel was holding, hands quickly going to his opened wound that was spraying blood.

"NO!" Crowley cried and caught Aziraphale as he collapsed. "No, no no no no no no!" He moaned. Golden blood was getting everywhere, on Aziraphale's face, his clothes, even into his hair. It saturated Crowley's hands and burned his skin. 

"Crow-" Azirpahale tried to say but only spat up more blood. His eyes were fixed on Crowley's.

"Don't...don't speak." Crowley said weakly. The hand not holding Aziraphale close was hovering over the wound, over his face, over his heart. "I'll get help!"

Aziraphale smiled sadly and felt something in his ebb. His hand shakily reached up and cupped Crowleys face. 

"I love you." Crowley said, his voice chocked. He blinked his eyes to clear them and felt tears trickle down his face. "I've loved you for so long."

Aziraphale nodded and blinked to try and keep his eyes open. They were getting so heavy.

"Don't go Angel. Don't leave me, pleasssse." Crowley sobbed. "I don't want to live without you." 

Aziraphale's hand dropped to his chest and he looked into Crowley's eyes. They'd always been so beautiful. The pain was fading, and a slow, gentle light was creeping over his vision.

"I want...I want..." Crowley said and pressed his lips to Aziraphale's forehead. He swayed them both gently, and buried his face into that blood soaked hair when he felt Azirpahale fade away.

There was no sound within the great room, not a single sound. Gabriel frowned when he looked at the pair, and turned to asked Michael for the holy water she had been keeping for him. But she wasn't looking at him. Instead, she was looking at the couple with a expression on her face that looked...wrong.

Abruptly Gabriel heard something started to permeate the room. It was a low, sobbing sound, and, with a sense of disbelief, he turned around. The demon was rocking Aziraphale's body gently, and keening into his hair. The sound was getting louder and louder, and Gabriel stepped backwards.

Crowley felt nothing but grief. His angel was gone. He rocked the body gently, and sobbed into his skin. He got louder and louder in his sorrow, his eyes shut by tears, until he threw his head back and started screaming into the room. The occupants of the room stepped backwards from the screaming demon, who began to rent his clothes into shreds, all while cradling the angel. His tears burned, his grief was all encompassing, and still he clung to Aziraphale. 

Gabriel felt...cold. This wasn't how he imagined it would feel. There was no righteous feeling, no sense of accomplishment. Looking to his side, he could see that even Beezlebub was affected. Their eyes were fixed on the broken demon, their expression horrified. Gabriel looked back at the demon, and felt knew, in that moment as he watched his enemy pat the dead angels face like he was trying to wake him up, that he had done something hideously wrong. 

This wasn't Her plan. This was his own, and he had caused destruction.

The white walls of Heaven were filled now with the cries of someone who had just watched their own heart break.

* * *

By this point in her not-life she should realised that visiting her cousin always yielded something that was going to change within her life. From the start of her pregnancy to just now, a visit to Elizabeth would always mean that her life was going to change in some way, big or small. Of course, visiting Heaven the way that she did was a privilege, and she didn't take that privilege lightly. It wasn't many people that ascended into Heaven rather than die, and even fewer who were allowed to live back on Earth, as long as she and Joseph kept a low profile. 

She supposed that when you gave birth to the Son of God, She allowed you a few privileges. And although Elizabeth wasn't allowed down, Mary felt obliged to visit her and make sure she and the rest of her family were doing well. Of course they would be, this was Heaven, but it was nice to see them. 

So she really shouldn't have been surprised when, walking back through Heaven, she felt something within her spark, and she followed that feeling to an antechamber. Rubbing her bare arms, wishing she had brought that scarf that Joseph had offered her before she left, she followed the feeling until something assailed her ears and she felt her heart drop into her stomach.

Grief. Pure, wailing grief, the kind she had made when she had seen her son nailed to a cross. Someone had lost a loved one, and wanted the whole of Heaven to know. Sympathetic tears welled in her eyes, and Mary followed the sound with gentle footsteps. She peeked around a stone column and saw and ring of Angels and Demons, looking and obscuring her view of the wailing, sobbing creature in the middle. Mary frowned, and walked up to the ring, tapping the nearest Angel on the shoulder. 

"Excuse me." She said. The Angel jumped and was about to turn around to tell the intruder off, but, seeing who it was, bowed their head and turned aside. She looked into the middle and felt her heart squeeze.

She knew that shade of red anywhere. She'd seen it often enough, around her Son and the rest of the children when they had been growing up. "The Devil's mark." The villagers had whispered at the sight of hair so red, but Mary had been comforted by it. Whenever she saw that hair, usually accompanied by a shock of hair so white it looked like a cloud, she knew that her family was safe.

Now the white hair was covered in golden blood, and the demon was wailing with grief, clutching the body close and not even pausing for breath as he cried. His tears had swollen his eyes, his fangs were longer, and Mary saw his fingers kneading desperately at the angels clothing. Turning her head, she saw Gabriel and felt, even after all these years, a shock of fear. "Be not afraid" was all well and good if the message wasn't immediatly followed by "You're pregnant."

Beside Gabriel was a small, dirtily dressed creature of indeterminate gender, who shared Gabriel's look of horror. In fact, every creature around her looked at the demon and the dead angel in the middle, and many faces were slowly starting to turn into one of horror.

Mary looked at the demon, and felt herself step forward. She walked slowly towards the grieving creature, and felt herself shake slightly as she saw the demon bury his face into the angels hair and keen. She walked to the demon and knelt gently at his side.

"Crawly." She said. The demon shook and moaned. She laid a hand on his shoulder and he shivered. "Crawly."

The demon sniffed and tried to peer at her through his swollen eyes. He blinked a few times and then Mary came into view. There was no smile on her face, but instead, she gently smoothed the demon's hair back.

"Mary." Crowley croaked. "I want to die."

Mary bit her lip and moved closer. The angel lay with a beatific expression on his face, making the gash at his throat all the more obscene. He could have been sleeping.

"Mary, please kill me." Crowley whispered and two more tears crawled down his cheeks. 

Mary shook her head. "I can't do that." She said, cupping his cheeks. Crowley closed his eyes and sobbed again, bending down and resting his head not against Aziraphale, but onto Mary's strong shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and rocked him gently, soothing him as she had done her children when they had been younger. 

The silence was somehow worse than the wailing, and the Angels and Demons still didn't move, all bearing witness to what they had done. Gabriel dropped the dagger and felt his expression fall.

Crowley had fallen into a doze, worn out by crying and his own terrible emotions, when Mary hooked her arms under his and stood them up. This caused Crowley to let go of Azirpahale's body, and he quickly woke up and began crying again. But he didn't reach for the body, realising that Aziraphale was starting to go cold and he never wanted to feel his Angel go cold, and wrapped his arms around Mary and buried his head into her shoulders. Considering he was significantly taller than her, this gave him an awkward lean, but he simply didn't care anymore.

Mary closed her eyes and rocked Crowley briefly. Then, with fire in her brown eyes, she turned to Gabriel and the demon beside him. "I'm taking him with me. If you come for him, you'll feel the full force of my Son's displeasure."

Gabriel didn't even have time to nod before Mary was walking off, leading the demon with a gentle hand on his back. The ring parted, and Mary walked through Heaven slowly, guiding the demon through the white, cold corridors to the special door that she had been assigned. When she laid a hand on the doorknob, the demon hiccuped and then moaned, and Mary shushed him and guided him through.

The door opened into a small corridor, one typical of a human house. There were pictures on the walls, Mary and her husband and their children and Son, the walls were maybe in need of a new coat, and the floor was wooden and covered in carpets. The air was warm, much better after the cold of Heaven, and sunlight was seeping in through the windows. Crowley shivered and Mary shushed him, quickly opening the door next to the first and guiding Crowley into the room. It was sparsely furnished, mainly used as a spare room whenever her children came for a visit, but the bed was large and comfortable, easily big enough for a demon. She sat Crowley high at the pillow end and pulled back the sheets, guiding the demon into the bed and tucking him in. Through this, Crowley didn't say a thing, and instead just continued to cry silently. 

Once Crowley was tucked in, Mary sat by his head and started to stroke his hair. The window opposite showed a large tree swaying gently in a summer breeze, and Crowley sniffled. 

"I don't want to live anymore." He whispered.

Mary didn't say anything, but continued to stoke his hair. Crowley closed his eyes and buried his face into the pillow, allowing his exhaustion to draw him under. He would rather feel the emotionless state of unconsciousness than spend another minute in the waking realm without Aziraphale.

Once Crowley was asleep, Mary stood up and walked to the door. Closing it softly, she allowed herself to lean her head against the wood and let the tears trickle down her face. She stayed there, sobbing without a sound, until she finally wiped the tears away and went downstairs. 

Joseph was in the garden, sanding down a new set of chairs he had made on commission. He didn't turn when he heard his wife enter the garden. "How was Elizabeth?" He called over his shoulder. Mary didn't sat anything, and Joseph felt himself frown. He set down his tools and stood up, feeling his chest squeeze at the expression of his wife's face.

"Mary?" He asked cautiously. She looked at him with swimming eyes.

"Oh Joseph." She said with a quavering voice. "Something terrible has happened."

* * *

He Lived.

He Died.

He Lived Again.

He spent some time on Earth, with his followers. When he ascended, he spent time in Heaven. He saw John (poor, poor John) hale and whole. He saw his father, Joseph, waiting so patiently for his mother, and felt joy knowing that they would be reunited soon. He soon saw his siblings, his followers and watched as his message spread, became something new. Some tangible. Some people could follow. 

He saw the highest moments of grace, and the lowest moments of depravity. He watched people cry out to him in their despair, and seek his forgiveness only to sin again. He watched, knowing the Ineffable Plan, as an angel and a demon danced around each other, closer and closer with each turn, until their fates were linked so closely that one no longer existed without the other. 

He chafed under the sterility of Heaven, and sought and won permission to go down, to live amongst those he had tried to save. Not to interfere, not that, just to help. Soothe a troubled soul, mend a broken heart. 

Watch.

(He visited his opposite number when the boy was 14, just to see. The boy was in the wood, talking and laughing with his friends, until he turned his head abruptly. He looked at the man looking at him, and in exact synchronicity, they nodded to each other and went about their day.)

He learned, for the fun of it. He acquired degrees and enjoyed working, helping and teaching as he had done so long ago. Of course, he'd change every few years, just to make sure nobody clocked that he was an immortal wandering amongst the humans. But occasionally he would see a child stop and stare at him, before squealing with joy and running to embrace the stranger. Parents were usually horrified, but one look at his face soothed them and he would embrace the child before silently blessing the family.

Thus, when his mother called him to tell him how royally Heaven had screwed up, he was in a refugee camp, bandaging a young girls leg and waiting patiently for his half hour break. His phone went off in his pocket (he disliked the capitalism, but he couldn't deny their use), and he caught his supervisors eye.

"Take your break now, answer that. We'll be fine here." The woman said, running her hand through her greying hair. He nodded and stepped out of the tent, taking off his mask and breathing in the air. He walked to the camp canteen and accepted a lukewarm cup of coffee with a low "Thanks", rubbing the ache out of his shoulders before finally walking to a quiet spot and pulling out his phone.

"Mother, sorry about the wait." He said, sitting on an upturned barrel. "How are you?"

"I'm doing..." He heard his mother sigh at the other end and felt abruptly cold. 

"Are you-"

"No, no, it's not me." He heard his mother walk and sit down, knowing that she was in the kitchen and that, knowing Joseph, there would be a steaming mug of tea at her elbow. "Heaven has done something...bad."

"Is anyone hurt?" He asked, feeling confused. He normally knew what was going on in Heaven, which, since the aborted apocalypse, wasn't much these days. 

"Yes." His mother's voice quivered.

"Who?"

"Oh, love." Mary whispered. "They've killed Aziraphale."

He felt cold, and closed his eyes. "No."

"Yes. And Crawly is with me now, and, my love, I don't know what to do."

"Crowley, Mother." He said with a soft smile.

"Ah. I knew she changed it, I just didn't know to what."

He sat there for a while, worrying his lip, before sighing and standing up. "I'll go there. I'll sort this out."

He felt his mother's relief down the phone. "Oh thank you, Jesus. Thank you."

He signed off the call, and went to his supervisor. He told her that a family friend had died, and he need to go home. His supervisor, a good woman who genuinely wanted to help people, nodded and siigned him off, before laying a hand on his shoulder in commiseration. 

"I'm sorry." She said. Jesus smiled and thanked her, and quickly walked out of the tent to collect his meagre belongings. He shouldered his backpack, walking through the camp before getting to the latrines. Ignoring the smell, he walked into one and closed the door. Closing his eyes, he then opened the door and stepped into Heaven. 

Feeling lighter, as he always did, Jesus waved his hand and cleaned his clothes, before extending his conscious wider and Feeling Heaven. There had been a Blight, here, sometime in the recent past, and he followed the feeling of grief. Grief was too powerful an emotion to cover, no matter how strongly the angles had tried, and soon he found himself in the antechamber. He dropped his bag and walked to the centre. At some point, they had cleaned the floor and removed the body, but the grief still hung in the air. Jesus knelt down on the floor and touch the stone. The taste of grief was bitter and hard, and when one spilled angelic blood, that scent lingered too. 

Yes, there had been a crime in this room. Jesus knelt back on his heels and flexed his conscious, allowing, within his Minds Eye, for himself to see the scene as it played out. 

"A mistake has been made." He murmured as he watched. His heart felt heavy as he watched the demon cry, and the angel die. 

He felt...angry. 

Now was not a good time to visit the perpetrators. He didn't quite know what he would do. Instead, watching as his mother gathered up the demon and took him away, he stood and gathered up his bag and strode to the exit. He grasped the door and walked, as his mother did, into his parents house. 

The scent of grief lingered here too, but lessened by dint of the demon being asleep. Jesus looked at the door that stood between him and the demon and rested a hand on it. He gently worked the demon into a dreamless state, knowing that to dream of the Angel would send him into further despair when he woke up. Jesus then turned and dropped his bag off into another of the spare rooms before heading downstairs. He walked into the kitchen and cleared his throat quietly, watching as his mother turned from the stove and ran into his arms.

"Oh thank God." She said. Jesus hugged her tightly. 

"I came as soon as I could." He said. He could see his father in the garden, taking out his anger at the situation by aggressively sanding the chairs. He rested his face into his mothers thick hair and breathed in her comforting scent. 

They stood for a long time, before Mary stepped back and wiped her eyes. She went back to the stove and, ignoring the pot bubbling away on top, she reached down and pulled out a warmed tray.

"Rugelach." Jesus said, and felt his mouth water. 

"You have to wait whilst they cool." Mary said and set the tray down. Jesus reached over and, before his fingers could touch a pastry, felt his hand being smacked. "No."

Jesus smiled as he shook his fingers. This was all part of the ritual of coming him. His brothers and sisters did the same thing, although, if there was more than one there, there was usually a good natured shoving battle for the best pastry. Jesus abruptly realised he hadn't seem them for a long time, and started, in the back of his head, making plans for a reunion. 

After this mess was sorted out, anyway.

Jesus looked out of the window and watched as the sun started to set. His mother sat beside him and rested a hand on his arm. "The grief was terrible." Jesus finally said. His voice was a little tight.

"I know. I saw it."

"The deed?" Jesus looked at her, frowning. She shook her head.

"No, the aftermath. Aziraphale had...already died by the time I got there." 

"I didn't know that they would try again." Jesus whispered, leaning forward and resting his face in his hands. He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and realised that his father had come in without him hearing it.

"I don't think that the Higher Ups would sanction another hit." Joseph said. Jesus turned and looked at his father with a wry grin.

"You've been watching too many television shows." He said. Joseph shrugged.

"They make entertaining shows. You can't blame me. But I am right. This is middle management."

"I know. I Saw it." Jesus leaned back and watched as his father poured himself a cup of tea and sat down at the table. 

"I can't do anything about it now. I'm too angry." Jesus muttered. Mary looked at Joseph, who nodded to her.

"I know, love. Stay here, work with Joseph. We need a new garden table anyway." 

Jesus threw back his head and laughed, but knew the tactic for what it was. A way to work out his anger by being productive, something she had always encouraged, even in the beginning when he was a young child, frightened by his powers and needing something calming to help keep him grounded. There was a reason he had become a carpenter before he had started his Mission. 

He reached for the rugelach and took a piece, biting into it and preventing the flakes from falling.

He loved his work, he really did. He was made to spread peace and calm and to heal. But sometimes, it was just good to be home. 

* * *

By the time Jesus felt emotionally stable enough to go back to Heaven, his parents had a new set of garden furniture and Jesus, in a fit of boredom, had given the corridor upstairs a new coat of paint. Summer blue, his mothers favourite colour. He had also spent time with the demon in the spare room, watching him carefully and making sure that he never woke up. 

The grief tainted his food, and he had occasionally had to soothe the sleeping creature back into unconsciousness when the demon started wailing, but Jesus filed those emotions away and only soothed.

Thus, a week and a half later, Jesus was able to walk into the office of the Archangel Gabriel, sit down in the chair opposite him and say, in a cool but calm voice, "What, in my Mother's name, have you done?"

Gabriel, usually neat and ordered Gabriel, never a hair out of place Gabriel, looked at Jesus with bloodshot eyes and greasy hair, and said, in a hoarse voice "I can't stop hearing the screaming."

Jesus did nothing but raise an eyebrow.

There was a long pause before Gabriel finally sat back. "I think," he said, and then stopped and had to moisten his lips, "I think I've made a dreadful mistake."

* * *

There was no Heavenly standard of time, but Jesus eventually walked out of Gabriel's office, sighing and shaking his head. Gabriel followed, looking hollowed out and weak.

"Please, help me to understand." He said desperately.

"What." Jesus said flatly.

"It...loved. It's a demon and it loved. I felt it, we all felt it."

Jesus said nothing, waiting for the question.

Finally, Gabriel whispered "How?"

Jesus opened his mouth, and then closed it again when he looked at Gabriel. He Looked, and shook his head. "You will never understand."

"But..but," Gabriel gaped. "I'm the Archangel Gabriel."

"I know. Believe me, I know." Jesus ran his hands through his hair. "You love my Mother, I'll give you that. But," He leaned in, "Do you love Earth?"

Gabriel reared backwards. "No, no. It's...dirty and filthy, and covered in humans. They made mistakes and turn away from redemption. How could anyone love them and aspire to be an angel?"

Jesus smiled. "And that's your mistake. Because humanity strives to be better. If they can change, they deserve love."

"And the demon?"

"Was the first champion of humanity, and therefore the first who could change. Aziraphale saw that."

Jesus turned, and tossed over his shoulder as he walked away, "Funny how a mere Principality could see Her plan, and the Archangel Fucking Gabriel couldn't."

* * *

He checked on the other Archangels, to see if they had anything else to add. But they were useless. Uriel simply didn't move, staring at the wall. Micheal, the Archangel he had always got on best with, saw him with a smile, but tears ran unheeded down her cheeks. 

Sandalphon twitched in the corner of his office, the guilt slowly driving him mad.

In the end, after he had made his rounds, there was only one last place left to go. He walked to the furthest corner of the building, passing seemingly endless windows, and saw, the Metatron sitting at his desk, reading the latest issue of the Celestial Observer. As Jesus walked past him, he jumped up.

"Excuse me, you need an appointment!" He said, quickly putting down his paper. Jesus turned and looked at him, and the Metatron looked a bit pink.

"My apologies, but it's been a while since you've gone to see Her."

"Yes. But I have need, this time."

"Ah." There was a silence, as the Metatron looked at everything but Jesus. "Go on in."

Jesus nodded and pushed open the door.

It had been a while since he had gone to see Her, but that sense of Love and Trust permeated the air. He looked around smiling as he saw familiar sights. The infinity bookcase, with every book written and some soon to come out. The comfy sofa's crowded around a table that held a 5 trillion piece puzzle of the Earth (pieces the size of atoms), still mostly unfinished. The lush, verdant wall with both wild and captive plants, all at the peak of bloom despite many of them not being in season. 

He breathed in the air and shut the door, noticing, as always, a fresh pot of coffee brewing in the corner, beside the record player. He went and poured himself a cup.

"MY SON." 

Jesus turned and watched as a figure walked from behind the bookcase. As always, She was shrouded in light, so that her features remained indistinct. When Jesus had first done this, She had been his Father, but, ever a modern God, She changed with the times.

"Mother." Jesus bowed his head. She nodded and gestured to the sofa, and Jesus sat. He fiddled with his cup.

"YOU ARE STILL TROUBLED ABOUT COMING HERE." 

"Shouldn't I be, in the presence of my God?" 

"YES, BUT," She leaned forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I AM YOUR MOTHER. PLEASE SPEAK."

Jesus sighed. "There has been a crime committed, and I need your help."

She leaned her head inquisitively to the side, and sat back. "TELL ME, AND I WILL SEE WHAT I CAN DO."

* * *

Dying was...surprisingly peaceful. After the pain and the terror went, and he could look into those wide golden eyes, the inevitable no longer scared him. He felt terrible leaving Crowley, of course, and he was scared by what they may do to him, but, when one accepted the knowledge that one was going to die, all you could do was make sure that your last image was one of love.

Admittedly, this eyes had been swimming in tears, but Aziraphale couldn't have everything, couldn't he?

He blinked, and looked around. Wheat fields, as far as the eye could see. And a sky, so vast and blue with only the occasional cloud. The air was warm without being stifling, and a breeze tickled his hair. Azirpahale swallowed and felt no pain. He closed his eyes, and, because he could, took a deep breath. 

When he opened them again, he looked down. He was wearing a robe he last wore in Eden, when he left the walls and tried to ignore the long black serpent following him. On his feet were simple sandals, leather but already broken in.

"I didn't realise there would be a Heaven for Angels." He said. He felt calm, but in the back of his mind, he hoped, if only so as not to draw out Crowleys suffering, that his dear serpent would be joining him soon.

Aziraphale was standing in the middle of a wide path between the fields. When he looked behind him, there was nothing but that path, but, as he looked forward, he saw a distinct figure standing there. He started forward, straining his eyes to see if it was Crowley. 

It wasn't. The hair was too dark, the skin too olive, and the eyes, although warm, were darkest brown. The man was dressed in a plaid shirt with worn blue jeans and heavy boots on his feet. He stood still and, as Aziraphale got closer, the features turned into ones that he recognised. Granted, he hadn't seen the man in nearly 2000 years, but his face was once that Aziraphale would know blindfolded.

"Jesus." He breathed.

The Son of God smiled. "Hello, Aziraphale."

"Aaah, my apologies. I thought you were someone else." Aziraphale said, wringing his hands. He still couldn't see Crowley. 

"You'd be surprised how many times I get that." Jesus said with a wide smile.

"Oh?" Aziraphale said.

"Yes. Usually people expect someone white."

"Ah."

They stood in silence, Jesus looking calmly at the angel and Aziraphale searching everywhere for a hint of red. Finally Jesus tilted his head.

"You're looking for someone."

Aziraphale sighed. "Yes. I am sorry, but I'm waiting for him, and I expected him to arrive rather quickly."

"Crowley, the Demon."

Aziraphale froze, and looked at Jesus with a horrified expression on his face. "Oh, OH!" He whispered, and started to panic. "He's a demon, he may not be allowed here!"

"Azirpahale-"

"No, please listen!" Aziraphale ignored protocol and grabbed Jesus' shirt sleeve. "He's...he's better! Please, he's better than all of them! He loves humanity, he wants there to be humans! He didn't know that the apple would mean they had to leave! Please, he loves me! He loves me, when no one else would!" Aziraphale started to cry. "He loves his plants and my bookshop and the Bentley. He loves the children, he loves children! He only asked questions, he didn't mean to Fall! Please let him in!"

By the end, Aziraphale was an incoherent, sobbing mess, and Jesus kindly offered him a tissue from his pocket. Azirpahale cleaned his face and, not knowing what to do, stored his dirty tissue up his sleeve. He gazed at the empty road behind him, his eyes dim.

"I'm going to be alone." He whispered. 

There was a long silence, before Jesus placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Azirpahale turned and Jesus said "Walk with me."

They walked side by side down the road, Aziraphale occasionally sniffling but holding back his tears, Jesus staring at the distance. After some time, Jesus looked at his companion.

"I remember you coming to teach us our letters."

Azirpahale looked up, surprised. "Oh? I'm surprised you remembered that."

"Oh yes. Jude thought you were made from clouds."

Aziraphale looked puzzled. Jesus nodded. "Your hair."

Azirpahale gave a tremulous smile. "Simon was particularly opposed to learning."

"Yes. I remember the arguments. My poor sisters, having to stand in the middle and speak for both sides."

"They did very well for themselves, that way."

Jesus laughed. "Oh yes. You never saw a more well disciplined household than when my sisters married."

Despite himself, Aziraphale chuckled. He had been invited in to those households quite often, and had, even for him, been on his best manners in the face of those women. He supposed, when one grew up with a brother like Jesus, being thin-skinned was never an option. 

"I remember Crawly, enticing us to go and play."

Azirpahale's heart twanged in his chest, but he still smiled at the memory of Crowley, then Crawly and then female, sitting in a field surrounded by small children, amongst them the Son of God, and telling them fantastical tales involving the thrilling adventures of a demon and an angel. Even then, Crowley was weaving them together, making sure that they were never apart in memory even though it would be much longer before they were together physically. 

"He loved you very much."

"Oh, of that I have no doubt." Jesus kicked a stone out of the way, holding Aziraphale's eye. "If there's one thing that I knew about that demon, it was that he loved. Very rare for a demon to love, particularly one that loved so strongly."

"Was it really that obvious?" Aziraphale said, his face going pink. Jesus laughed.

"It was like being hit by an arrow, whenever he looked at you. Honestly, when I was younger I couldn't decide if you were that stupid or if you genuinely didn't know."

"Oh, really." Aziraphale huffed, and Jesus laughed some more. 

In the distance, a shape slowly emerged. A two-story cottage with a slate roof, chimney smoking gently. Aziraphale frowned. 

"I didn't know cottages appeared in Heaven." He muttered to himself. Jesus said nothing. 

They walked closer, and Azirpahale could hear voices. As they rounded the corner, Aziraphale felt his stomach plummet. He had hoped, deep in his heart, to see Crowley.

Mary was sitting on the low garden wall, kicking her bare legs and eating from a bowl of cherries in her lap. Joseph was tending to the nearby vegetable patch, and swatting at the cherry stones his wife was spitting at him every so often. The atmosphere of love and fun hit Aziraphale like a train, and he staggered back in pain.

His sudden stumble caused Mary to look up, and she gaped. Setting down the bowl, she stood slowly and tapped Joseph on the shoulder. He turned, stood, and dusted off his hands as he looked at who had arrived. 

"Oh, you brilliant boy." Joseph said. "You've done it."

Mary walked forward slowly. Even as a middle aged woman, she was still possessed a beautiful face and handsome figure. She walked up to Aziraphale and slowly cupped his face.

"Hello, Aziraphale." She whispered.

Aziraphale jerked back, tears in his eyes. "I don't understand." He said in a weak voice. His heart hurt.

Mary looked at Jesus. "You didn't tell him."

Jesus looked at his mother, to Aziraphale, and then turned his eyes skywards and pursed his lips. After a moment, he looked back to Aziraphale, standing there, very white and looking panicked.

"Aziraphale, touch your throat."

Aziraphale frowned and reached up slowly. Not knowing what he would find, he jumped slightly when he realised that he wasn't touching smooth skin, but shiny, rough scar tissue.

"What?" He gasped. He jerked, and then looked around. This didn't feel like Heaven. 

Heaven had never felt this warm or inviting. 

Finally, in an act to convince himself, he pinched the skin of his upper arm hard. It hurt, and he soothed the wound by rubbing it.

"I'm not dead." He whispered. 

Jesus shook his head. "No."

"But...I..."

"I had a...chat." Jesus shook his head, smiling. "I managed to convince some higher powers to reverse your punishment."

"But...but..." Aziraphale struggled with the enormity of what he was thinking. "Gabriel-"

"Is not longer making life-or-death policy decisions." Jesus said firmly.

Azirpahale gaped at him, and then, with a rush of understanding, suddenly felt like the bottom had gone from his stomach. 

"Crowley!" He yelped. "They have Crowley! Oh, please," He grasped Jesus' hand. "Please rescue him too."

"I don't need too."

"But they'll kill him!"

"No they won't." Mary said. She stepped forward and laid a gentle hand on his arm. "He's right here."

Aziraphale looked at her. She gestured towards the house. "Third room on the right, top floor."

Aziraphale swayed, the truth hitting him. He held back tears and bent and kissed Mary's hand, too overwhelmed to speak. He turned and walked slowly towards the house, he footprints barely denting the grass. The family watched him go, Joseph's arms around his son and wife. They watched the angel walk into their house.

"Let's give them the evening. Go into town and have some dinner." He said. His wife wiped the happy tears from her eyes and went to get her sandals. Jesus looked at the house with a pensive expression. 

"Shekel for your thoughts?" Joseph said. 

"I sometimes ask myself whether, in what I do, I am doing right in the world." Jesus said. Joseph nodded but didn't say anything. "I have doubt."

"All people do."

Jesus smiled at his father. "This has been the first time in a while where I have no doubt at all."

Joseph's white teeth shone through his rough beard, and he clasped his arms around his son. "Then that's all a Parent needs to hear."

The old car pulled up beside then, and Mary opened the door, letting Joseph and Jesus into the car. It set off, leaving the angel and demon alone.

* * *

Azirpahale ascended the stairs slowly, feeling his heart beat a fast rhythm. All throughout the house the love drifted though the air, but as he neared the bedroom in question, the love was slowly overlaid by the harsh tang of grief. Azirpahale bit his lip as he got the door and gently, without making a sound, opened it. 

The room was sparely decorated, the only really furniture being the big bed in the middle. The grief hung close in the hair, almost suffocating, but Aziraphale let his metaphysical eyes open wide and Saw through it.

Crowley was curled up in a small ball in the middle of the bed, surrounded by blankets and with only the top of his head and his mussed, greasy red hair on display. Aziraphale bit his lip, dismayed at the inattention his demon had payed to his own well-being. Only a truly devastated Crowley would leave his personal grooming habits by the wayside. 

Aziraphale walked on silent feet to the bed and then sat, watching his love. The demon quivered and curled up tighter, whimpering almost silently. Aziraphale reached out a hand and waved it over the demon, slowly withdrawing the latent unconsciousness that had been placed over him. Not a permanent thing, of course, Crowley could have woken up if he really wanted to. The fact that he didn't alarmed Azirpahale. 

"Oh, my wily serpent." He whispered and leaned in close. He gently kissed each creased eyelid, that worried forehead and the bed of that tangled mess of hair. The demon, in response, turned his face to those kisses like a sunflower to the sun. 

Azirpahale smiled and let his lips rest of those thin, bitten things, so worried and broken but always so eager. Crowley gently kissed back.

"This is a good dream." He whispered in a hoarse croak. Aziraphale felt tears well in his eyes. 

"My love."

"Don't." Crowley said, slowly blinking open his eyes. "Let me stay asleep a little longer. You're always so fleeting, and it's nice to be able to kiss you."

"You can kiss me again."

Crowley leaned in and kissed a little harder. His breath was horrific, but Aziraphale ignored that and leaned into the kiss, hands coming up to sweep through Crowleys hair.

"How long can you stay for?" Crowley asked.

"Forever, darling."

Crowley gave a bitter laugh. "I'll wake up, and you'll be gone, and then I'll want to die. And I won't stop until I reach you finally."

"I am here." Aziraphale said, starting to feel a little bit frustrated.

"For the moment." Crowley's eyes were starting to sting with tears, but he fought them down and stared at Azirpahale. He didn't know how long he still had.

"Darling, you're awake. I'm here and you're awake."

"Don't try to trick me!" Crowley snarled. Aziraphale, fed up, reached out and pinched Crowley's upper arm, hard. "Ow! What the fuck was that for?"

"I'm. HERE. Crowley! I'm really here!" Aziraphale stood up off the bed and waved his hands down himself. He looked ridiculous, and in the smaller recess of Crowley's brain, a small voice noted that his dreams, whilst emotionally painful, had never specially hurt before. Keeping his eyes on the angel, Crowley raised his hand and slapped himself hard in the face.

"Crowley!" Azirpahale exclaimed and rushed to the bed, taking the reddening face of his demon in his hands and turning it from side to side. "Really, my dear, was that necessary? I already pinched you!"

"Aziraphale?" Crowley whispered. His heart, which only beat for his Angel, stuttered in his chest and started to pulse.

"My love."

"You're...you're alive."

"Yes."

" _How_?" Crowley gasped, reaching out and kneading Aziraphale's sleeves. 

"She was convinced to intercede on our behalf." Aziraphale said, smiling. He wondered if Crowley had even realised that he was crying.

"By who?"

"Well, we're currently staying at his parents house."

Crowley looked around and, in the dimmer memories, remembered being led away.

" _He_ convinced her?" He croaked. Aziraphale nodded. "But I tempted him!"

"Apparently he doesn't hold grudges."

Crowley nodded, and then shook his head and then, apparently at the end of his emotional limit, burst into harsh sobs and flung himself at Azirpahale. Aziraphale, who knew his demon, caught him and cuddled him close, rocking him and shushing him gently. 

"I'm...so...sorry!" Crowley whimpered and clung tighter.

"There's nothing to forgive, my love."

"I couldn't...do anything!"

"What could you have done?" Aziraphale asked and eased them both onto the bed, where Crowley set about trying his best to tunnel into his Angel and live in his chest. "It's not like you didn't try. And once the deed was done then it was too late."

"Never. Never want to...see..." Crowley hiccuped and wept, squeezing his Angel like the snake he really was. His head felt like cobwebs were being blown away, the clear and bright scent of his angel removing the funk of sorrow. 

"You never shall. As I never shall. My dear," he reached down and took Crowley chins, bringing his face up to meet Aziraphale's. "She had brought me back. Do you know what that means?"

Crowley nodded, sniffing. "We're completely unkillable, if She's willing to bring us back."

"Indeed."

Crowley rested his head on Aziraphale's shoulder, taking in the air. He felt cleaner, more relaxed, and nestled his head into Aziraphale's study shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Crowley nodded. He reached down and entwined his fingers with the Angel's and brought them up to his chest. He rested them over his heart and closed his eyes. Although he had really just woken up, his emotional release had tired him, and he allowed his eyes to close.

"You'll still be here when I wake up?" He asked. Aziraphale smiled.

"I'll never leave again." He kissed Crowley's head and settled in. He may not have a book to read, but he found that spending the time looking at Crowley, especially after having lost him once, was going to be absorbing enough for him.

"My Angel..." Crowley murmured as he drifted off. 

Azirpahale looked at the setting sun and, as it dipped below the horizon, he closed his eyes and sent his own prayer up.

 _I love him. Thank you_.

**And So On**

A week and a half. That was all that it had been. 

Yet is felt like an entire lifetime. As Aziraphale and Crowley stood in the bookshop, the usual sense of safety didn't come to them. Their home had been violated, and now, as Aziraphale swept crumpled papers into the neat pile and Crowley checked on his plants, both of them looked over their shoulders.

That night, instead of going to bed, they both curled up on the sofa downstairs and stared at the door.

"Crowley." Aziraphale whimpered. Crowley nodded and buried his face into his Angel's hair. The next day, he used his sleek laptop to go house hunting, and within a fortnight, the bookshop was empty and up for rent and Aziraphale was settling his books into a nice little cottage in the South Downs. 

A large greenhouse at the back was built with a click of their fingers, and Crowley could once again shout some order into his plants.

The anxiety didn't go quickly, but it did ease. Their human friends did get a bit put out that Aziraphale and Crowley had moved so far away, but one knowing glance by Adam silenced them. In fact, this turned out to be a boon, because it meant that the Them could go on cheap holidays whenever they wanted to, simply by asking politely if Mr Aziraphale was feeling well enough for them to stay.

(Crowley never minded. Teenagers were simply unexploded fireworks, in his opinion. And he was the match.)

A year after the move, Crowley and Aziraphale got into the Bentley and drove to Tadfield for the christening of baby Agnes Device-Pulsifer. When the only person who could make the child stop screaming was Crowley, Anathema, with a fierce determination in her eye, yanked the baby carrier off of Newt and buckled Crowley into it before he quite knew what was happening. 

"What?" He asked.

"You have no idea." She growled, propping herself up via her exhausted husband, who was likewise using a chuckling Madame Tracy to prop himself up. "That child is a demon."

"A demon, eh?" He asked and looked down. There was a twinkle in the baby's eyes that Crowley liked.

"Should we be worried?" Brian asked sideways to Aziraphale, who was munching on a mini-quiche.

"Oh, quite probably." He said happily and wandered off back to the buffet table. 

By the end of the evening, Pepper was leaning against Crowley and, along with him, was happily singing suffragette songs to the sleeping baby. Crowley was of the opinion that installing a fierce desire to upset the establishment early was good for the cause, something Pepper was all too happy to join in with him. Wendslydale was helping Newt, who kept nodding off, correctly match the christening presents to the guests and keep a tab on thank you letters. Brian was asleep on the sofa next to Shadwell, and Adam was standing next to Aziraphale, who was standing at the kitchen window watching Crowley sing to the child. 

"I'm glad you're still alive." He said suddenly. Aziraphale jerked, and Adam looked at him with eyes that seemed to old for his face. 

"So am I, dear boy." Aziraphale said and laid a hand on his shoulder. 

(In the final tally for the presents, a silver Kiddush cup was noted, but no one remembered the family who had given it. No one, except Madame Tracy, who noted to herself that the 'lovely Middle Eastern family had only appeared very briefly'.)

Four years down the line, a tall, skinny young man with long dark hair would knock at the door of the cottage and collapse into the arms of the woman who answered it, who cradled her son and whispered in his ear "Warlock, my precious lamb!" Nanny would take care of him when his parents no longer wanted him (a gay son would never do for an up and coming politician), would fund his college degree with help from Brother Francis (who had some serious cosmetic surgery) and would in the future, through heartbreak and love, always provide him with a bed for the night and a cup of tea in the morning. 

One day, they would also sit him down and let him into another, slightly bigger secret. Something ethereal and occult and wonderful and _theirs_.

The world can change in a blink of an eye. For Crowley and Aziraphale, that change had come, and they had weathered the storm. And now, in their small cottage, with a fire roaring in the grate and a tartan blanket on their laps, they could look each other in the eye and say "I love you."

And they were never afraid again.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who stayed to the end, did you really think I was going to kill Aziraphale permanently? I may put my characters, any characters, through hell, but I will always give them a happy ending. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the rollercoaster this ended up being. Believe me, it was tough writing it, but we got through it!


End file.
